Testing Kate

by Whitney Gaskell

  And then Legrande was suddenly calling time, and we all put down our pens and passed our papers back to the ends of the rows. We weren’t allowed to speak until all of the exams and blue books had been collected, which seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. When Legrande was satisfied that he had all of the papers, he smiled at us and said, “Contracts One is now officially over. Good luck on the rest of your exams, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “How’d you do?” Nick asked, as we stood stretching muscles that were tight from sitting still for three straight hours.

  “All right,” I said, breathing out. “I think.”

  But then I heard someone behind me say, “Did you get that unjust-enrichment angle in Question Two? I almost missed it and didn’t notice it until I was going over my work,” and a tremor of terror shook me. Unjust enrichment? Had there been an unjust-enrichment angle in Question Two?

  “Was there an unjust-enrichment issue in Question Two?” I asked Nick, my voice dropping to an anxious whisper.

  He nodded and looked serious. “Yeah, I think so. You don’t remember that part?”

  “No, I don’t think I wrote anything about that.” I groaned. “Oh, God. I am so screwed.”

  Nick shook his head. “You don’t know that. Let’s get the hell out of here. It’s not going to help to hear everyone rehashing the test,” he said.

  I threw all of my test supplies into the knapsack that I’d stashed by my feet. Nick was striding ahead of me, walking quickly and not stopping to talk to anyone. I hurried after him. I was glad when I saw that Lexi and Jen were huddled around Addison while he looked up something in his textbook and they didn’t notice us leaving. Nick was right—the last thing I wanted to do was relive the exam.

  “How’d you do, Kate?” Scott Brown called after me.

  I shrugged and smiled but didn’t stop to talk. Outside in the hall, Nick had finally slowed down and was waiting for me, watching our classmates trickle out of the lecture hall in groups of two or more, chattering loudly about the test.

  “Everyone’s going insane,” he said, looking disgusted. “They’re all just torturing themselves.”

  “No, they’re trying to make themselves feel better,” I said as we turned and walked down the hall and out the front doors of the law school together.

  “Where did you park?” Nick asked as we turned east down Freret.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t dare drive this morning. I took the streetcar.”

  “Probably a smart move. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “What are you doing now? Are you going to study?”

  “No way. I’m too burned out after that exam,” Nick said. “I should probably take a nap, but I’m too revved up to sleep. Hey, you know what I want to do?”

  “No, what?”

  “Go to a movie,” Nick said. “You want to?”

  “We can’t,” I said immediately, although when Nick said, “Why not?” I couldn’t think of a good answer.

  The idea did have enormous appeal. The idea of being able to hide in the darkness and zone out to a celluloid fantasy while gobbling down handfuls of buttery popcorn sounded heavenly.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said happily.

  The movie theater was mostly empty when we arrived for the one o’clock showing of a horror movie starring glossy young actors who were all ten years younger and thirty pounds lighter than me. It wasn’t the type of movie I’d normally see, but it was the only thing playing that wasn’t a melodrama or a cartoon, and Nick and I had been in agreement that we couldn’t take anything too heavy.

  Nick bought my ticket, and when I protested, he simply smiled and said, “It’s okay. You get the popcorn and we’ll be even.”

  We stopped at the concession counter, where I bought the biggest tub of popcorn they sold, with extra imitation-butter topping, along with two sodas and an enormous box of Milk Duds.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I said. “It feels so…so reckless.”

  “Wow, you really do know how to walk on the wild side, don’t you?”

  I elbowed Nick playfully in the side. “You know what I mean. Most of our class probably went home and started studying for Torts on Friday,” I said.

  “There’s no point in studying right now. My brain is fried,” Nick said.

  We sat in the middle of the row, halfway up the theater, and both of us slouched back in our seats as we waited for the movie to start. Now that the tension was starting to leave my body, my neck and back ached.

  “I’m starving,” he said, his voice muffled through the mouthful of food.

  “Milk Dud?” I offered him.

  “Definitely. There’s a secret to the ultimate movie-theater snack that not many people know about. But I’m going to let you in on it,” Nick said.

  “Tell me.”

  “The secret is to first take the popcorn.” Nick stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Then add the chocolate.” He tossed a few Milk Duds in. “And then chase it down with a splash of Coke.” He slurped some Coke through the straw.

  “That’s the secret?”

  “Yup. Popcorn plus chocolate plus Coke,” he said through his popcorn and candy-stuffed mouth. “It’s the patented Nick Crosby Movie Snack.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Do you really think you’re the only person who’s figured out that popcorn, chocolate, and soda taste good together? Popcorn, chocolate, and soda make up three of the four pillars of the concession-stand marketing strategy. Of course they taste good together; they’re supposed to,” I said.

  “That may be true, but they taste better when you eat them in the patented Nick Crosby Movie Snack sequence.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “You’re just jealous. What’s the fourth pillar? Nachos?”

  “No.”

  “Hot dogs?”

  “Eww. No. Twizzlers. Actually, all of the synthetic-fruit-based candies, as opposed to the chocolate-based candies. Twizzlers, Sour Patch Kids, Jujubes.”

  “All inferior.”

  “Be that as it may, they’re still the fourth pillar.”

  He stuffed another round of popcorn and Milk Duds into his mouth, and then sucked up some Coke through a straw. “The fourth pillar isn’t holding its weight,” Nick said.

  The Torts exam on Friday and the Civ Pro exam on Monday were pretty much what I expected, although they left my brain feeling numb.

  “One more test and then we’re done forever,” Jen said as we dragged ourselves out of the Civ Pro exam.

  “You mean until next semester, when we get to do this all over again,” I said.

  “Don’t remind me,” she sighed.

  “Hey, chickies, wait up,” Addison called, jogging to catch up with us. “What did you guys put for Question Two-B—the one about the plane crash in Brazil?”

  “No! No postmortems! It’s too depressing,” I said.

  “And I can’t even remember. I think that was around the point where I lost my mind,” Jen said desolately.

  We walked outside into the law-school courtyard and sat down on one of the cement benches. Jen pulled out a white box of Marlboro Lights and smacked it against the heel of her hand.

  “Let me bum a smoke,” Addison said.

  “What a surprise,” Jen muttered. “I hate Social Smokers. They never want to buy their own cigarettes, because they think that will make them a Real Smoker, so they just mooch off those of us who are honest about our bad habits.”

  “I’ll buy you a pack if you give me two cigarettes now,” Addison bargained.

  “Deal,” Jen said. She flipped open the box, pulled out two cigarettes, and lit one. She handed the lit cigarette to Addison and then lit her own.

  “That was traumatic,” Lexi said as she exited the law school. She looked dazed as she sat down next to Jen and sighed heavily. “May I have a cigarette?”

  Jen rolled her eyes heavenward but produced a cigarette for Lexi. While Lexi lit her cigarette, Nick and Dan
a walked up. Nick looked absolutely awful—dark rings under his eyes, a heavy beard, and wearing rumpled sweats and a faded T-shirt that looked as though he’d slept in them. Dana, in stark contrast, was serene. She was wearing ironed khakis and a black sweater, and her curly hair was caught back into a neat ponytail.

  “Brutal, huh?” Nick asked.

  “We’re not discussing it,” I reminded him.

  “I just mean in general,” he said.

  I shrugged. “It was about what I expected,” I said.

  “Well, it kicked my ass,” Jen said.

  “Mine too,” Addison agreed. He blew out a big puff of smoke and sighed mournfully.

  “I’d seen it before,” Dana said.

  “What? How?” Lexi said, staring at her.

  “It was the exact same test that Professor Vega gave to his Civ Pro class a few years ago,” Dana said.

  “But how did you see it?” I asked her.

  “It was on file with the rest of the tests in the library. I finished going over all of Chandler’s old tests, so I started going over Vega’s,” she said.

  “But that’s cheating,” Lexi said sharply. Her voice had a shrill edge to it.

  “No, it’s not,” Addison said. “The tests are there for whoever wants to look at them. Just because Chandler was too lazy to come up with a new test doesn’t mean Dana cheated.”

  Dana looked at Addison as though he’d thrown his body between her and an oncoming bus, gratitude shining in her brown eyes.

  “It just doesn’t seem fair,” Lexi grumbled.

  “Kate, do you need a ride home?” Nick asked suddenly.

  I nodded and stood. We said good-bye to the others and then walked down toward Freret, where Nick’s car was parked.

  “Lexi can be such a bitch,” Nick said, once we were out of their hearing. “You don’t accuse people of cheating like that. She’s just jealous because she didn’t think to look at the practice tests from other classes.”

  “Who would, other than Dana? I didn’t get through all of Chandler’s old tests. Hell, I didn’t get through half of them.”

  “I didn’t either,” Nick said. “But that’s probably why Dana’s been cruising through finals, while the rest of us look like shit.”

  “Hey! Speak for yourself,” I said, hitting him lightly in the arm.

  We reached Nick’s red Mini Cooper, parked on a side street.

  “Why didn’t you get the Mini Cooper with the British flag painted on top of the car?” I asked, once we were settled in and Nick was maneuvering down Freret and turning right on State.

  “Hmm. Don’t know. Maybe because I’m straight and American?” Nick asked.

  “I’d drive one, and I’m straight and American,” I said.

  “Yeah, but you’re a chick. You can get away with it,” Nick said. “Anyway, what’s up with Addison and Dana?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think there’s anything going on. Why, is Addison interested in her?”

  “Actually, I think he’s into someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you. It would go against the Guy Code of Honor.”

  “Oh, come on. You have to tell me. You know you’re incapable of keeping a secret.”

  “That’s not true,” Nick said.

  I leaned over and poked him in the ribs.

  “Hey! Don’t do that, I’m driving,” he exclaimed.

  I poked him again.

  “Stop! Okay, fine, fine, I’ll tell you, just stop poking me. I think Add likes Jasmine West,” Nick said.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, trying to remember. The name sounded familiar, but exams were frying my short-term memory.

  “You know. She sits in the first row in Torts and raises her hand all the time? Long curly hair and rather well endowed in the, um, chest area.”

  “The Sweaty Girl? Add has a crush on the Sweaty Girl?” I asked.

  “The Sweaty Girl—why do you call her that?”

  “Duh—she’s always sweaty,” I said. “Always. Every time I see her. It looks like she sprays herself down with water before class.”

  “I think she just works out a lot.”

  “I’ve seen her sweaty at eight in the morning,” I said.

  “Women are so critical,” Nick said, with an annoyingly superior air of resignation.

  “I can’t help it if I notice she has perspiration issues,” I said. “And how is that any worse than you noticing how big her boobs are?”

  “Because I was just appreciating the natural beauty of the female form.”

  “Ha!”

  “It’s true. How burned out are you on studying?”

  “So burned out, I don’t know if I’m going to make it through Crim,” I said. “And, knowing Hoffman, it’s going to be a bitch of an exam.”

  “Do you want to study together? Without the others, I mean. Jen and Addison joke around too much, so I never get anything done when they’re there. And Dana’s way too prepared. Studying with her would just freak me out,” Nick said.

  “And Lex?”

  Nick shook his head. “No, I can’t deal with her right now. If I hear her talk about her stupid boyfriend one more time in that annoying sticky-sweet tone of voice, my head might actually explode.”

  “Okay. Where do you want to study? My place or yours? Or the Rue?”

  “Let’s start at the Rue tomorrow when we’re fresh, but if it gets too noisy, we’ll head back home.”

  “It’s a date,” I joked, because the only thing less datelike than studying for exams would be if Nick accompanied me to my yearly gynecological exam.

  The day before Hoffman’s Criminal Law final exam, a cold front came through New Orleans. Initially I dismissed how panicky the weathermen were acting, as they reminded their viewers to bring in their plants and pets, to cover their pipes, and advising that any possible school closings would be listed on the morning news.

  “This is the Deep South,” I laughed scornfully, when Graham called to wish me good luck on my last exam. “How cold could it possibly get? The temperature’s barely going to dip below freezing.”

  “The houses around here weren’t built to withstand the cold. I’ve seen your apartment. It isn’t exactly well insulated. Every window and door lets in a draft,” Graham said.

  “At Cornell we’d be sunbathing on the middle of campus when the temperature got up into the forties. I think I’ll survive one night of thirty-two-degree temperatures,” I scoffed.

  “Even so, don’t forget to put an extra blanket on your bed,” Graham advised.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I should probably get back to work, though.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow after your test,” Graham said.

  “I won’t be coming home right away. Some of us are going out to celebrate after finals are over,” I said. “I’ll call you when I get back, okay? Oh, but wait—would you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will you call me tomorrow at seven a.m.? I’m worried I’m going to oversleep,” I said. “I need a wake-up call. I know that’s, like, five your time….”

  “No problem. I’m getting up early to run tomorrow anyway.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “I have never been colder in my life,” I said, through chattering teeth.

  “Are you kidding me?” Nick asked. “You used to live in Ithaca. It’s like Antarctica up there for a good six months of the year.”

  It was so cold out, the Rue had closed early, so we were back in my apartment, camped out in my living room.

  Unlike our other finals, which were all open-book, Hoffman had limited us to a two-page outline for the Crim exam. He wasn’t even letting us bring in scrap paper; he said that we could always take notes on the exam itself, which was ridiculous, because there was hardly any room to write, except around the margins, and no one could outline their answer in such a small space. And all the outline page restrict
ion meant was that everyone was coming up with creative ways for shrinking their text down and reducing the margins, so as to fit all crucial information onto the two sheets. I had my outline down to a six-point font, although I had to squint to read it.

  “Yes, and in Ithaca we had houses with insulation and real heating systems,” I said, looking at my window unit with disgust. It was turned on high and was about as effective as a hair dryer would be at warming the room. “I’m thinking of lighting a campfire right here in the middle of the floor. Look at this, my fingers are actually turning blue.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “I’m getting under my covers.”

  “You’re done studying for the night?” Nick said.

  “No. Gah. Not even close. Come with me, and bring the books. Oh, and the Doritos,” I said. I rubbed my hands together, which were becoming stiff with the cold. The frigid wind was swirling around the house, finding its way into my apartment through every last creaky floorboard and crooked windowsill. “Look at this. It’s so cold, I can actually see my breath, inside my apartment.”

  When I got to my bedroom, which was at the front end of the apartment, I pulled open a dresser drawer and rifled through it, pulling out extra sweaters, sweatshirts, and a pashmina scarf that I could use to layer, and then I jumped into bed and pulled the comforter up around me.

  “Brrrr,” I said as I waited for my body heat to fill the cold layer between the blanket and me.

  “Where should I go?” Nick asked, as he came into the room with our pile of books and notebooks, a half-eaten bag of Doritos and an unopened package of Oreos resting on top of the stack.

  “You can get under the covers too,” I said.

  Nick’s eyebrows went up. “In bed? With you?”

  “These are exigent circumstances. And besides, I have so many layers of clothes on, even if you wanted to get fresh, you wouldn’t be able to get to me,” I said.

  “Is that a challenge?” he asked, leering comically. But he climbed into bed and wrapped the other half of my comforter around him.